


The Canon-Compliant Coach Chronicles

by petals42_tumblr (rosepetals42)



Series: Check Please Tumblr Fics [10]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coach trying to get better, Gen, Learning to be an ally, M/M, minor homophobia, parent/child relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-09-23 02:24:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20332510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetals42/pseuds/petals42_tumblr
Summary: A look at how Coach (and his relationship with Bitty) grows post-Coach IV; canon-compliant; Coach is not perfect but he loves his son. And he's learning how to make that obvious.





	1. Coach - Part V

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. I know in my major fics I’ve made Coach and Suzanne not very nice people, but after the latest updates I figured I’d try my hand at writing canon-compliant Coach. This is in his POV so obviously Coach-centric and he is not magically a perfect ally. He’s trying though. 
> 
> First chapter is VERY much Post-Coach IV

It’s Sunday. Which means Church for Suzanne always and Church for Richard when he has the time. Or about every three weeks when Suzanne starts asking him on Thursday whether he is going to make it this week instead of waiting til the morning-of. It’s his signal to go with her so she can show him off or introduce him to new folks or just re-establish that they are together and happy and she can still make him go to Church whenever she wants. 

Either way, it’s not bad. He doesn’t mind listening to the sermons, even if he’s not quite sure how much stock he puts in all of this, and the music is good enough, even if he’s not one for singing himself. 

He doesn’t even mind the post-Church chitchat. In the fall and winter, the traditional spread of baked goods made by the women of the Church is usually served in the small auditorium. It’s cold when you first walk in and then all the bodies heat it up so that by the end Suzanne will be complaining that if they don’t want to put the AC on, they could just open a window or something.

Richard knows his role in this too. He stands off to the side with his plateful of baked goods, making sure to take the ones baked by Suzanne’s friends and avoid the ones made by anyone his wife is currently feuding with. He chats with some folk who wander over, always polite, but mostly people know him well enough to let him be and wait for Suzanne to finish talking with everyone. 

They have a good system. They walk through the line of food together which is when he puts on his best smile. Then he goes to a corner, she claims she has to use the restroom but takes her plate with her and stops to mill and chat with everyone on the way to the bathroom. She’ll finish her plate before she gets to the bathroom, throw it away, and then talk to many of the same people on her way back. He’ll wait and watch and when she starts looking a little tight around the eyes or flexes her left hand in that certain way, that’s when he’ll walk up and ask if she minds leaving. She’ll say of course, they will make their goodbyes, and that’s that. 

Sunday morning. 

Usually his time in the corner is almost meditative. He lets his eyes unfocus and eats just steadily enough that people can see he is eating and lets his mind drift. It may be a weird place to meditate, in a room filled with other adults, but it works for him. Coaching is a loud job, filled with the noise of teenagers and yelling and grunts and sounds just of working in a high school, really. And then Suzanne is not loud in the same way and he loves listening to her (for as little as he inputs, really he does), but she’s not a still person. She’s light and movement and laughter and she fills up a room enough that usually he is content to just bask in her presence. It’s more joyful than meditative. 

This, though. This is just right. His brain is already a little fuzzy from spacing out during the sermon and he’s bored enough that usually he would pull out his phone, but standing and relaxing in a corner is fine. Playing on your phone in a corner is rude. According to Suzanne. And he doesn’t disagree. So he’s a little bored, unable to do anything to fix that boredom, happy to turn the chitchat around him into a sort of gray static he doesn’t have to pay attention to and just… relax.

Of course, this week relaxing is a bit difficult.

He’d been busy in the week he’d gotten back from Samwell. He had booked that flight a bit last minute so it was fly out late, late on Tuesday and then leave Thursday midday to try to make it back for Thursday’s practice because he was the _head coach_ of a football team and, goodness Junior better make it late in the playoffs when there is plenty of time for him to actually go up and see more of the games. 

So it was practice and then cram all the strategy and tape he was supposed to do Tuesday and Wednesday into Friday and game Saturday (a win, but a sloppy one if he is being honest) and it is now, Sunday, as he stands and watches people try to eat while holding a small paper plate filled with too much food, that he is finally able to think about it all. 

About the car ride and Junior telling him that he wasn’t acknowledging his relationship and getting upset and telling him that he needed to know he wasn’t messed up, like Richard would _ever _think he was messed up but the fact that Junior had to even _ask _was–

He blows out a breath. Not angry just… annoyed. At himself. And maybe a little but at Junior even though he shouldn’t be and he _isn’t,_ he just–

Sometimes he feels he never got credit for the things he _did _do. He paid for all those ice dancing lessons even though he didn’t understood a bit of it. And then when it became obvious Junior was good, he paid for that private coach and went online to learn at least some of the terms even though he was never going to be able to give Junior any actual advice on anything. Which had… well, he could at least admit that that had been a bit of a disappointment. He loved teaching and coaching and_ yes, see, don’t rely on your elbow so much. Power’s in your shoulder– there you go, feel the difference?_ He loved being a coach. But with Junior and ice skating… he looked up enough to sometimes manage a weak _Remember to pull your arms tight _and Junior would look up at him and smile and nod when he was little but he got older and better and eventually he had to stop trying. Because Junior was more advanced than any of the little tips he could find and he had that private coach to tell him what he was _actually _doing wrong and he didn’t want to look like a fool and certainly didn’t want Junior to get annoyed with him so…

He’d moved too. He and Suzanne. Packed up their house and he’d gotten a new job away from the kids he’d been coaching for years and they never talked about it with Junior, never wanted him to feel like it was his fault but his son wasn’t stupid. He would’ve thought that he made the connection between the bullying and the change of scenery, as it were. 

And then there was hockey, another sport for him to learn enough so he could at least understand what was going on and offer tentative tips, and Samwell and taking out a loan to cover what Junior’s scholarship didn’t and flying up to see at least some of the games and he’s tried to keep things as normal as possible after Jack. Tried to make it obvious that nothing had changed. That he viewed his son exactly the same. But even that hadn’t been enough.

He looks down where he’s holding his paper plate filled with post-Church snacks and realizes he’s crumpling it. But he can’t quite get his hand to loosen. Kids these days. And even thinking that made him feel old but it was true. Kids these days want everything spoken aloud, everything _talked _about, all mushy, like actions don’t count for anything anymore. It just– he could count on one hand the number of times his daddy had ever said anything like “I love you” or “I’m proud of you” but he still knew it was true. Of course he knew. His father attended as many of his football games as he could and shook his hand on his wedding day, offered him a cigar when Eric was born…

And, really, he thought he had been being pretty obvious. Right after the Cup, he had started talking about Jack’s goal and his great game and congratulating him and he thought that was clear enough. That if Jack was important to Junior, than he would care about Jack’s sport as much as he could. And then he flew up to see Junior on a week where he could see Junior’s game and they could watch Jack’s game together too. Sure, he referred to Jack as Junior’s friend, but he… he didn’t know if boyfriend was the right word or if they were using partner and, okay, okay maybe it was easier to say “friend”, at least at first. Which, okay, was wrong. But also Junior didn’t even seem to hear the rest of what he was saying. He had gone up there and complimented Jack and Jack’s team and how Jack and Junior _worked together_ and had thought he was being obvious about starting to invite Jack over for Christmas and somehow Junior still ended up yelling at him in the car. 

His mouth twists at that. That had been… not good. Not only because Junior had been hurt and crying, but because he’d been angry and yelled and he was pretty sure he mentioned that he had had to find out through the TV, like some stranger and he…

You weren’t supposed to tell your kids when they hurt your feelings. He knows that. He’s… he’s not allowed to get his feelings hurt, anyway, from the sounds of it. From the reading he’s done in the days he’s been back. The internet says that coming out is a personal thing and everyone makes their own decision and, according to most websites, it’s probably his fault. His and Suzanne’s for not being more openly supportive of people when Junior was growing up. For making him feel like he couldn’t tell them. And he doesn’t– well, he doesn’t remember ever saying anything blatantly rude like that, he figures he’s usually a live and let live type, but apparently all those little things– microaggressions, the internet calls ‘em– apparently those add up. 

So, again, his fault. 

He shifts and swings his head to find Suzanne. It only takes him a moment; his eyes are long used to flicked through a crowd to find someone just her size with that specific hair color. She’s laughing, chatting with Ruby, and from the looks of it, he’s still got a while. Which is fine. He could go find one of the guys to chat with and, as the local football coach, there’s plenty of chatting he _could _do but he–

He looks as Suzanne and wonders instead. If her feelings are still a little hurt by Junior’s way of telling them. If she feels old and forgotten and replaced by all those friends he’s got up at college. The ones who knew first.

He pops a cookie in his mouth. Feels his stomach twist up as his mind flashes once again to that dumb car ride. And really, how was he supposed to know Junior even _cared _about his opinion anymore? He had all those friends and Jack and all the Falconers who all spoke out about it afterwards and there had been pictures with _Jack’s _parents who were there and clearly knew and Eric hadn’t even called them after. Not for hours and hours. 

He can’t help but think it wasn’t right. Suzanne had been beside herself with worry and called him over and over and Richard thought he was pretty okay, but he didn’t like when someone hurt Suzanne. Especially not _Junior_. Those two talked nearly every day, it seemed to him, and it was a hell of a time for his son to suddenly be so irresponsible with his mama’s feelings. 

He takes a breath. Lets it go. Those two have clearly made up and there’s no point in fighting someone else’s battle especially if they didn’t seem too torn up about it anymore. 

He wishes he had remembered that during the car ride. That he was better at not reacting with anger sometimes. At not getting all defensive. Then maybe the car ride would’ve gone smoother. Maybe that whole mess could have been avoided. And he wouldn’t still feel so embarrassed and guilty about it even though he thinks that maybe he’d finally gotten the message through on his way to the airport. 

Yes, thank God, at least that went well. He’s pretty sure. So Junior’s good with Suanne and good with him and Jack is coming down for Christmas so that’s that.

To be honest, he isn’t quite sure what to do next. Junior seems to watch him to talk and ask about Jack, but the internet said to treat the relationship just like any other and he isn’t sure he had been planning on talking to Junior much about girls except for maybe a quick check that they were being safe and he was being honorable and perhaps a “Is she expecting a ring?” or “Seems about time you went out and got one” talk. That’s about all he and his daddy had done. 

Other things he’s doing now– reading up about things on the internet and planning to maybe pop over to the GSA at the high school when he thinks the other coaches can run the beginning of practice without him – those things don’t come up in conversation much. At least not naturally. So there is no way to tell Junior. Not that he wants to. Would sound too much like bragging or trying to get points for doing the basics. Which, again, the internet tells him is bad. 

Watch gay movies (_queer cinema_, he says in his head, trying it out from what he’d read) is next. He has to make sure he looked completely comfortable with Junior and Jack kissing and the like when they came for Christmas. Luckily, the internet has a list of ones available on Netflix. Though, he’s not sure he’s supposed to talk to Junior about those either. He found one tweet or something in his search that seemed to imply that parents telling or asking their gay children about gay movies is awkward. Like assuming they all know each other. 

There seems to be a mighty fine line between not acknowledging that your kid is gay enough and talking about it too much and making them feel all different. It’s a shame he can’t ask Junior for some advice. But he’s already done enough damage. He’ll have to figure this out on his own. He had spoken disparagingly of parades and rainbows in the car because, sonuvabitch, that seems like a hellish way to spend a Saturday, what with the noise and the heat and people all crammed into a small area like that, but if… well if it would help Junior feel better, he could probably do it. For a couple hours. Maybe. 

He’ll have to talk to Junior directly more, he decides. Not just wait for major updates to come through Suzanne. He’ll have to–

“Hey, hon,” Suzanne says, stepping in front of him. He blinks and refocuses his eyes and wonders what brought her over. He doesn’t think it’s been as long as she usually stays. “You okay?”

“Wha- yeah,” he says. “Why?”

“Just checking,” she says. “You were just looking pretty intense, that’s all.”

“Just thinking about plans and stuff,” he replies. Not a lie. 

“Plans?”

“Football stuff,” now he’s lying. “Game was sloppy yesterday. Gotta tighten up.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she says, patting his arm. She knows more about football than people assume and she can talk strategy with him when he needs to, but she’s not about to do it in Church. Sometimes she gets enough gossip here to last her the week. 

“You ready to go?” she asks.

“If you want,” he replies. “I can stay longer if you want to talk to–”

“No, no,” she says. “You were up at Samwell this week. Let’s head back.”

He nods and accepts it when her path to the exit leads them through the center of the room rather than around the outskirts. There are hugs and kisses on the cheek and he nods and says goodbye when prompted and they are just about out when–

“Oh, the Bittles!” It’s Martha. Her last name escapes him at the moment but it’s not a big deal. He waits for Suzanne to finish her hug and then he leans down and gives her a polite hug as well. “How are you two holding up?”

“Just fine,” Suzanne says. Richard bobs his head up and down in agreement. “Did Todd make it today?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s got that new job so he’s just been busy, busy, busy!”

“Oh well, send him our love,” Suzanne says effortlessly. “And we certainly know what it means to be a bit busy. Especially this time of year!.”

“Oh yes,” Martha says. “It’s always like school starts up again and then suddenly it’s Christmas!”

“With somehow a thousand stressful football games in the middle.”

“Seems the weeks get shorter every year,” Richard adds which is what he always adds during this conversation. 

“And the football games get longer,” Suzanne stage-whispers to Martha where it gets its usual short laugh and Richard shrugs to say ‘What can you do?’ and he’s pretty sure they have a clear shot to the door once they finish this one. 

“Speaking of,” Suzanne continues and here it is, her exit strategy. “This one’s got to get home to plan for next Saturday so…”

“Of course, of course,” Martha says, waving them on. “Good luck!” and that should be the end of it, except Martha leans in one last time to Suzanne, speaks softly enough that Richard knows the comment wasn’t really meant for him at all, and says:

“We’ve been praying for you, you know. You and little Dicky.”

Suzanne’s smile goes a bit off-center but she is turning the lean into a quick goodbye hug already and moving and–

“Praying for Junior?” Richard finds himself saying. His blood has gone a bit cold somehow. “Why?”

Maybe he meant it to come out confused and dumb-like. It doesn’t. It comes out like he actually meant it: accusatory. Barely polite. 

Martha freezes. Suzanne sort of looks at him, her eyes flashing a bit of a warning. He doesn’t know if it’s to not cause drama or to just ignore it but he does neither of those things. He just stands and waits for her answer. 

“Well,” Martha says, glancing quickly around, probably to check who is listening. No one really appears to be so far. He hadn’t actually spoken that loudly. “Well, you know, with the… the… you _know_.”

“No, I don’t,” he says. Suzanne is definitely glaring at him a bit now.

“We’re not judging,” Martha is saying, voice almost a whisper. “We love Dicky. We do. We’re just keeping him in our prayers while he works through…”

She fades out or at least Richard doesn’t hear if she says more because all he can hear is his son worrying that he is messed up somehow, that he needs to be fixed, that he’s anything less than perfect.

“My son,” Richard starts and it’s a bit of a fight to keep his voice even. He clears his throat and tries again. “My son is the captain of his _college _hockey team, is graduating this May, and is currently dating someone who makes him very happy. A man. His boyfriend. My son’s boyfriend makes him very happy. He just told me. He is very happy.”

Richard takes a breath. Now people are looking. Not everyone, he hadn’t been talking quite loud enough to cause that, but people near them are looking and Martha’s mouth is sort of hanging open and, actually, Suzanne looks a bit shocked himself and suddenly Richard is very aware that he does not want to be the center of attention anymore. If ever. 

“I- Well I–” Martha tries to start up again but Richard cannot even express how much he does not want to hear it. 

“I reckon you should save your prayers for those who actually need ‘em,” Richard says. “Which doesn’t include my boy.”

He moves then. He doesn’t care what she has to say or what anyone else has to say, and, God help him, he doesn’t even know if he cares what _Suzanne _has to say, not if it’s something negative or worried about the gossip he just started. He just nods one last time at her because that’s what he does when he walks away from someone and takes a few quick strides out of the room. Then it’s down the hall and hang a left and there.

Outside. 

That’s a bit better. Suzanne is right. It does get too hot in there. 

He’s just sort of standing there, taking deep breaths, calming down, hands on his hips, when suddenly an arm links through his. 

He waits a beat before looking down at Suzanne.

Her grin is blinding.

“You are _brilliant_,” she says, standing on her tip-toes and that’s his cue to lean over for a kiss on the cheek and he can feel a blush coming on (Junior thinks he gets that from his Mama, but that’s all Bittle). “Brilliant! I wish I had a picture of her face. God, she’s been saying that shit– excuse my language, Jesus– that shit for months and I’ve just been ignoring it and you! You just… Brilliant!”

She is bouncing and happy and they walk to the car, arm in arm, like back when they were dating and, alright, let’s not throw a parade or anything, he tells her, well aware that he’s still blushing, but–

It’s a start. 


	2. 5 Times Bitty Doesn’t Tell his Dad He Knows What Coach Is Up To and One Time He Does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coach grows through the years. He and Bitty don't talk about it. Until they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I decided to do NaNo and finish up some old fics I have lying around. This one was first up. 
> 
> Enjoy my version of a emotionally-stunted-but-still-trying-canon-compliant Coach.

**5 Times Bitty Doesn’t Tell his Dad He Knows What Coach Is Up To and One Time He Does**

1.

It isn’t that Bitty doesn’t use his parents’ Netflix account-- he most certainly does. So much so, in fact, that like every other college student, he has his own profile. So he can’t see what they watch and they can’t see what he watches, which is useful. Mostly so he doesn’t end up messing with where Mama is in Parks & Rec when he sticks one on randomly in the middle of the night. 

Of course at home the Roku automatically goes to his parents’ profile. Which is no big deal as Bitty is just looking for something mindless to put on while anxiously waiting for Jack to arrive. 

And he has to find _something_ to do because Jack had _insisted_ on renting a car so as not to inconvenience anyone and won’t be here for 4 hours and Coach is helping a neighbor with some kind of “tree across the road” emergency and his _own mother had thrown him out of the kitchen_. 

Gracious, if he thought she had gone a bit overboard when Jack came for the 4th of July…

There are already four different kinds of baked goods in the house (2 pies, 1 plate of cookies, and a cheesecake) and he may be wrong, but he’s pretty sure she’s working on a fifth. And he’s not even allowed to help. 

“I still say you’re being ridiculous!” he yells over his shoulder as the Roku starts up. “You’ve already met Jack, you know!”

“Hush!” comes the order from the kitchen. “Let me be!”

Bitty rolls his eyes a little and smiles and tells himself that no matter what looks Coach gives him from across the table at dinner, he is never quite as flustered as his mom when visitors come over. 

That being said, he does need something to watch. Otherwise he might pace out of his skin. Luckily the Roku is on and he hits Netflix and he’s going to just scroll down and watch the first sitcom he sees but--

“Continue Watching,” Netflix offers him. And the movie it wants him to continue watching is _God’s Own Country_. According to Netflix, he has about 35 minutes left. 

Bitty blinks. _He_ hasn’t gotten around to watching that one yet. Not that he doesn’t want to but he doesn’t often feel like he has the attention span for movies; he generally sticks to TV shows and usually not even dramas. Sitcoms. He and Holster are alike in that. They’re both sitcom boys. 

The “Watch Again” section is only two clicks down. And without even scrolling through he can see that _Moonlight_ and _Carol_ and _MILK_ are on that list. 

Something warm feels his chest. He knows his mother isn’t really one for movies either. So, this… this _means_ something. 

“Mama!” he calls, debating going into the kitchen to talk and then deciding to keep this casual. “How are you liking _God’s Own Country_?”

“How am I liking what?”

“_God’s Own Country,”_ Bitty yells back. “The movie!”

“A movie?” his mom replies. “What on earth are you--”

She walks into the living room, wiping her hands on a towel. They are definitely covered in flour. She is definitely baking something else. 

“Oh, that,” she says, seeing what’s on the screen. She waves a hand dismissively. “That’s not me. That’s your father. You’ll have to ask him what he thinks.”

She’s taking advantage of coming out with semi-clean hands to check on her phone. So she’s already looking down when she tells him this. So she misses his face. So Bitty will never really know exactly what it does

His…. _Coach_ is midway through _God’s Own Country_. 

“Co-- Daddy is watching these?” Bitty says. His father… his father lets Mama pick the sitcom and then spends most of it on his phone or falling asleep.

“Yeah,” his mom still doesn’t look up. “I don’t know. Your father is really into dramas these days? You know I don’t like serious movies. So he watches them after I fall asleep. Of course, you know your father. 20 minutes in and then _he’s_ falling asleep so he has to wake up and rewind to where he remembers the next day. I swear it takes him like six days to watch a single film.”

She finally looks up and squints at the screen. “Yeah, see, that one he’s been watching since last Tuesday. What’s it say he’s got? 35 minutes left now. Well, maybe he’ll finish it tonight if he’s not too tired from helping Jamie. Though maybe not. I saw a snippet of that one. Apparently it’s about farming. Looked boring as all get out. No wonder he falls asleep.”

She is walking toward the kitchen now. And if Bitty says something, she will hear it in his voice so he lets her go because he… he doesn’t know what to do with this information.

He doesn’t know what to do with it so he just sits and feels his face get hot and smile and he really just stares at the screen for a while. Scrolls through the “Watch Again” section two or three times just to be sure of what he’s seeing. Doesn’t say anything until his Mama asks him to come in and tell him how sugary Jack likes his cream cheese frosting. And then he keeps it casual, light, until...

“So… _God’s Own Country,_” Bitty says as he and Coach are bringing down the box of Christmas tree decorations they had somehow missed while Jack gets stuffed with food in the kitchen. In true Coach form, all Bitty gets is a slight rise of the eyebrows. “Is it any good? I haven’t seen it.”

“Scenery’s nice,” Coach replies after a beat. “Worth watching.”

And, well, that seems to be all Bitty is going to get out of him about that.

Well, alright then. 

Still.

*^*^*^

2\. 

“Of course, Meemaw,” Bitty says into the phone. “You know I would never.”

If he’s being honest, he’s not quite sure he knows exactly what he is agreeing too. He’s got his phone on his chest, not even on speaker, and he’s scrolling through his computer at the same time. And usually, he would never not give his Meemaw his full attention but at this point, drastic situations call for drastic measures. His midterm paper is due today at midnight and he’s still got two pages to write and well… well, to be honest, every phone conversation with Meemaw can run about two hours long once she gets going.

And she is certainly going now. He’s been avoiding her calls because of this paper but he felt bad so he answered this one during what was supposed to be a “pause writing and edit” break. And now there doesn’t seem to be a way to get off the phone so he is interjecting with his usual “Oh, yes, ma’am, I agree” and “She did not!” and “Oh my!” when necessary and letting the rest of her conversation wash over him. He loves his Meemaw but at this point, she is old enough that she’ll just as like tell him the same stories when next he calls her. 

“--and I said, well, you know me, Dicky, I said there’s just no place for that. None at all. Even if Meredith _is_ leading that new bible study, that certainly don’t give her the right to pick on anybody else.”

“Certainly not, Meemaw.”

“And frankly, frankly well I know as well as anyone else that Sarah can be a bit _much_ but no worse than Meredith on her worse days. And, really, to speak to someone like that at _Church_\-- when it’s not even deserved. Not like your daddy did with Martha a while back. I mean, well, that wasn’t _polite_ per se, but she had it coming from what your Mama told me and Sarah, Sarah can be a bit ditzy but not mean-spirited. Not like that damn Meredith, excuse my language, Dicky.”

Bitty nods absent-mindedly and then, in trying to figure out how scandalized he should act about her language, rewinds the conversation a little bit. 

Wait. Did he hear something about his dad?

“She just seems pretty high and mighty for someone who we all know--”

“Wait, Meemaw,” Bitty interrupts. Predictably she keeps talking for a moment. “Meemaw!”

“What? What?” she seems to surprised to be interrupted. “What’s the matter? Do you have to go?”

“No, no,” Bitty assures her. “But what’s that you were saying? About Coach?”

“Your daddy’s fine last I heard,” his grandmother answers. “Just talked to your mama yesterday. Why? Did you hear something?”

“No, _you_ said something,” Bitty says, sitting up and turning the phone on actual speaker. “About Daddy getting into a fight?”

“Oh _that_,” Meemaw says and he can picture her waving her hand. “Bitty, that was almost four months ago now. You know that one.”

“What?” Bitty asks. Four months ago was mid-October. He doesn’t remember hearing anything about Coach getting into a fight. “No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” Meemaw says. “Remember? When your daddy yelled at Martha Whatshername after Church one day. During that little post-service potluck your parents’ church does.”

“Why was Coach yelling at Martha Whatshername?”

“Why for saying she was gonna pray for you, of course,” Meemaw says. “Oh my goodness, Junior, you really don’t listen; elsewise you’d remember this.”

“No one told me this story!”

“Junior, your mother called me pleased as punch and told this story to anyone who would listen in about a 7 mile radius. Your daddy: turning around and yelling at that woman that you didn’t darn well need to be prayed for since you was up there at college, happy with your boyfriend who was a _millionaire_ and that she should save her prayers for her snot-nosed little brat who wasn’t gonna even pass high school at the rate he was skipping classes to smoke in the bathrooms!”

“He said _what_?”

“The way your mother tells it, Martha ain’t never really recovered since. Straight up didn’t go to service for two weeks and even now, still avoids them.”

“Mama did not tell me this story,” Bitty says. “She… Coach actually _said_ that to her?”

“In the version she told Judy, he threw his drink at her after he was done yelling.”

“Okay well that can’t have happened.”

“Probably not, but I did hear from Barbara that those two did have words. So I reckon that part’s true. The ‘my son don’t need no prayers’ part. And probably the part about her son too-- Barbara told me that she thought lil Timothy was smoking the green lettuce, if you know what I mean.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me this story?” Bitty says, shaking his head. He-- gosh, everytime he talks to his dad, it’s like pulling teeth unless it’s about football so he didn’t expect it much from him but his Mama… he can list every major drama going on in her life and her friend’s lives and her friend’s kid’s lives and yet somehow _this_ is the story she forgets to tell him?

“I’m sure she did, Junior,” Meemaw says. “Like I said, she was mighty proud of him. You were probably just off studyin’ or doing whatever it is you’re doing up North there. Actually wait a minute… didn’t you tell me you were trying to finish some paper by tonight?”

His paper! He literally doesn’t have time for this!

“Oh, shi-oot! Meemaw, I gotta go!”

“Have fun, Dicky! Talk again soon!”

“Yes, real soon!” he agrees but as soon as he finishes this paper, he’s gonna have to call his Mama…

But first the paper. He sighs and hangs up and looks and tries to focus and--

His dad had _yelled_ at someone?

*^*^*^

3\. 

“Head right on up,” Mama says as they walk in the door. Bitty would be offended by the lack of excitement over his and Jack’s arrival but they had just seen each other a few days ago at his graduation and anyone can see that Mama is busy baking up a storm for the party that’s happened in a few hours time so he just nods. 

“Let me just put my bag down,” he says. “Then I can come help you. We got your text-- I had Jack go straight to the store to get ice after dropping me off. Coach around back?”

“No, I think he’s upstairs setting up your room,” comes the reply from the kitchen. “I had completely forgot to make the bed and all or even dust since the last time y’all were here so he’s doing that.”

“Coach dusting?” Bitty says, laughing. “This I gotta see.”

“Now don’t poke fun. I’ll have you know your father has been cleaning a fair amount in recent days. Apparently he read some article on gender roles and cleaning or something… who knows what that man gets up to on the internet these days.”

Bitty rolls his eyes but waves his hand in a promise to not say anything and heads up.

He arrives at the top of the stairs just in time to see Coach practically scurry out of the bedroom, moving quickly only to slow down just enough to try to close the door quietly. 

“Coach?” Bitty says. Surely being caught dusting isn’t _that_ embarrassing.

But he must be wrong about that because his father sort of jumps and turns and a tell-tale side of redness is rising from his father’s neck.

“Junior,” his dad says. “Uh. I was just… making sure your mom had set up your room and all. You know. With the sheets. And towels.”

“Thank you,” Bitty says and he can’t really help that his voice slides into a question mark at the end. Coach is acting downright strange.

“She did,” Coach offers, still standing so he’s blocking the door. “All of it. She did it. All ready.”

It’s a weird lie but, as Bitty gets older, he is realizing more and more that his dad is a weird guy so,

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll be sure to thank her.”

His dad seems satisfied with this, with Bitty thinking that Mama was the one to do the room. At least, he finally jerks his head in a nod and steps away.

“I’m gonna help Mama in the kitchen,” Bitty says, moving to the doorway. “Jack’s getting ice now but he’ll be here to help you set up.”

“Sounds good,” Coach grunts and then he’s moving stiffly away. 

Bitty stares at his back for a moment before mentally shrugging. Weird dude, and frankly maybe getting weirder as he gets older. 

He sets into the room and sees that, indeed, the bed is made up and there’s some dirty paper towels in the little trash can by the door. He can report back to Mama that Coach did a swell job. He throws their bag on the bed and turns to go when--

There.

That’s different.

There’s a framed photograph on the bedside table.

Which Bitty knows is new because he hasn’t had a picture on his bedside table since he knocked one off dreaming in the middle of the night when he was 12 years old. He’s not a still sleeper and hasn’t risked having one since. 

Frowning, he reaches out and grabs it and--

It’s of him and Jack. At Bitty’s graduation. Just three days ago. Bitty is in his graduation robe, grinning at the camera and Jack is leaning down to give him a kiss on the cheek and they’re all tangled up in each other and he vaguely remembers that Coach was the one with the camera throughout most of the day, seemingly happy to stand to the side and document everything but Bitty figured it’d be his Mama to eventually look at the pictures and share them on Google or something. 

This is not shared on Google. This is printed. And framed. 

And sitting on his bedside table. 

He sits on his bed, still holding the picture. The picture that his _daddy_ had left there. Of him and Jack. It’s real and it’s permanent and he and his daddy still have a ways to go but…

But his chest is warm and there’s a smile on his face and well, maybe that conversation they had back in October worked better than he thought.

*^*^*^

4\. 

Sometimes Bitty forgets what being out in the sun and the 93 degree heat with 1000 percent humidity does to him. In his head, he’s still _from_ Georgia and so he’s used to it. He likes laughing at the boys when they start complain’ too much and yelling at Jack over what they should set their thermostat to during the winter (hell, sometimes it’s a struggle to even get Jack to turn _on_ the thermostat). He’s a Georgia boy. He likes the heat.

It’s only now-- now that he’s really been living away from home for going on six years and it’s 9 o’clock at night and his skin feels a bit tight despite the gallon of sunscreen he put on today and he’s freakin’ _exhausted_ even though it’s not that late-- it’s only now that he quietly admits he might no longer be used to a Madison summer. 

_It’s unnatural_, he thinks as he flops on his bed. And what’s more unnatural is Jack seems unaffected by it. Oh, well he’s affected plenty when it’s just him and Bitty--then he’s all moaning and groaning and begging Bitty to bring him water--but when he’s around Coach, it’s like some “Impress the Father” (or maybe “Impress the Coach”) instinct kicks in and suddenly Jack is perfectly content to run around town doing errands and shaking hands and _being outside in this hell weather_. 

Bitty never can tell if he likes how well Coach and Jack get along. Sure, it’s miles better than the alternative and it does give him and Mama a chance to catch up in the kitchen whenever they visit and he certainly doesn’t want to go to the hardware store or fishing store or pick up mulch at the side of the road stand but…

There’s a small part of him that thinks it’s a bit ridiculous how much effort Coach puts into being nice to Jack. Or maybe it’s that Jack just goes along with these things without complaint. Either way, those two have no business being as buddy-buddy as they are.

Or maybe Bitty is just being ornery because he’s too hot and too tired and, once again, Coach refuses to put the air conditioner on in his room until after he’s arrived (because,_ c’mon Junior, no point in chillin’ a room that ain’t even being used yet_) and so now, even though he and Jack landed this morning and have been running around all day, he had to put the air conditioner on himself. 

Well, his daddy won’t like it, but he’s opening the window. He at least needs some airflow. He’ll close it as soon as the AC actually kicks in. He works the window open and is about to flop down on his bed again (maybe after taking off his shirt if he can manage it) when--

“Alright then,” Coach’s voice filters up. Bitty stills-- he often forgets his room is right above the back patio. And he can’t remember the last time he heard Coach sound quite so… gravely. “Let’s hear it.”

“Hear it?” That’s Jack’s voice. And Bitty frowns and leans closer to the window because he can’t recall Coach ever talking to Jack like _that_. He sounds grim and serious and maybe even angry which is obviously crazy because that’s… that’s not how those two communicate.

Oh, sure, they are always a bit stilted and silent and most of it seems to revolve around sports talk and so sometimes that just means they are sitting around and giving the players on the TV a stern talking-to but this is…

The confusion in Jack’s voice is mirrored on Bitty’s face.

“Well, son,” Coach continues and it’s not the pleasant “son” he sometimes uses with Bitty. No, this is the “son” he uses when a running back has just fumbled the football and Coach is about to bench him. “Seems to me you’ve been dating my boy a pretty long while now.”

There’s a confused pause. From his eavesdropping post, Bitty also blinks.

“Well, yeah, I guess--”

“Four years, two months, and a handful of weeks by my calculations.”

“Uh--”

“And living together for about two now. Don’t think me and his Mama don’t know about that.”

“Well, no, we never tried to--”

“So, it seems to me,” Coach says and Bitty would _pay money_ to see Jack’s face. So much money. All his money. “Seems to me, something oughta be done about that. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, sir, we’ve--” They have talked about it, is maybe what Bitty thinks Jack is going to say. They’ve talked about who wants to propose to who and if they want rings and who gets to tell Shitty. 

“Don’t want details,” Coach interrupts smoothly. “Just want things done right. Proper. As it should be. Ain’t nobody getting any younger. You see what I’m saying?”

“Yes?” It is undoubtedly a question. Bitty has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing.

“Alright, then,” Coach says and there’s a scrap of chair that means Coach is standing. Possibly even reaching out to shake Jack’s hand, if Bitty had to guess. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

“Uh, yes, I--”

“See you inside, Jack.”

And Bitty rolls his eyes at his dumb father and maybe he should be offended about assumptions going on here but he’s not really, he’s just amused. And he’s all the more delighted when he and Jack talk later and he asks, casual-like how Jack’s day was with Coach, leaving the opening--just a little one-- for if Jack wanted to tell him about it, and Jack just silently shakes his head. 

And, well, if Bitty happens to lead the conversation at the dinner table to tales of Coach’s best hunting trips or that one time he had to “join the brawl to break up the brawl” (as Coach puts it), well, sometimes, that’s just fun. 

*^*^*^

5\. 

It’s a typical Thursday at the bakery. Which means, of course, that at 2:30PM, Bitty is standing behind the counter, scrolling down Instagram even though it’s already told him that he’s quote-unquote “All caught up with recent posts from the last three days.”

Whatever, instagram. Instagram doesn’t know his life. It doesn’t know his story. 

He’s going to switch to CandyCrush in a second between 2:30 at a bakery means its way too late for breakfast treats and even the lunchers with a sweet tooth are back to their desk jobs and he’s still got at least an hour, probably more, before people start trickling in for the post-work snack. 

Bitty knows he should be appreciating the peace while he can get it but he’s bored and he’d told Lily she could run over to a dentist appointment so there’s no one even to chat to.

It’s a relief when the door chimes indicate the door opening.

“Hello!” Bitty says, practically throwing his phone on the counter. “How’re you today?”

The customer is a tall, athletic looking boy. Well, man. College-age kid is what Bitty thinks which sounds awkward even in his own head because he is not _that_ much older than college, at least he doesn’t _feel_ like he is, but well…

The man is wearing a rainbow tanktop with some sort of glitter on it and a plaid tied around his waist and has three hoops trailing up his ear and Bitty really is out of touch with the youths because the shoe-sock combo is nothing he would ever be caught dead in so maybe that does mean he is officially past his prime and--

He is bickering with himself in his own head when he realizes the young man has not answered his question.

No. Instead, Bitty is getting stared at. Like, really stared at. Wide-eyes, open mouth, shell-shocked look. The whole nine-yards. 

“Oh my god,” the guy says. “You-you’re Eric Bittle!”

Bitty blushes. When he and Jack first came out and kissed on national television, he had gotten recognized a few times and there are certainly some diehard fans who will make an effort to seek him out, but for the most part, moments like this aren’t all that common. 

“Yessir,” Bitty says, hoping they can move quickly past this. “And before you ask, no, I don’t have any of Jack’s autographs lying around.” He smiles to take the sting out.

“Oh, uh, no,” the guy replies. “I’m not a hockey fan. I mean I know about Jack Zimmermann but not because--”

“Oh?” Bitty says. “Then… how did you--”

The blog, Bitty decides. It’s only ever happened once before when he was down in Georgia visiting, but he does still run a pretty public blog. 

“I grew up in Madison!” comes the reply. “I play football! Coach has a picture of you up in his office!”

“Oh!” Bitty says. Then tries to picture his father with a picture of him in his office, though he suppose it makes sense. “Oh. Goodness, I wonder how old that picture is.”

“I think just a few years,” the guy says. “It’s you and your mom and Jack and-- wow! I can’t believe you are here! You’re like a legend.”

Bitty’s not sure what that means or if it’s a particularly good thing but luckily it seems not much of his input is needed.

“I’m Tyler, by the way,” the guy says and then he is reaching over the counter to shake Bitty’s hand, beaming at him. “Your dad like totally got me into college. Helped me send my tapes everywhere.”

“Congratulations!” Bitty says and he means it. Not just because he is generally happy for anyone who gets to do what they love in college but because Tyler is pretty openly gay and Bitty thinks that must be even rougher to do in football. “Where are you playing?”

“Up in Boston. Holy Cross,” Tyler says. “It’s small but it’s D1! And they gave me a scholarship so…”

“I love a good scholarship,” Bitty says. “And I made the best friends on my college team. You getting to play a lot?”

“Yeah, especially now that I’m a Junior. I’m actually on my way up now. We have some long summer practices and conditioning.”

“Lord, I don’t miss those!” Bitty says and also makes a note that he really should start at least running or something again. 

“For real. But at least it’s not as hot up here as it is in Georgia.”

“You can say that again. Now what can I get you?”

“Right,” Tyler sounds like he has completely forgotten why he is in the shop in the first place. “I’m just visiting my sister on my way so maybe… a couple cupcakes?”

“How about four of ‘em?” Bitty says. “We’ve got little containers and I’ll give you the four best flavors.”

“Just no nuts, please,” Tyler says. “I got an allergy. Anyway, how is Coach? I need to email him or something. It’s been a while.”

“Oh you know Coach,” Bitty says, reaching for the boxes. “Same old, same old. Still coaching. I’m sure still grumbling about how kids keep trying for the big plays every time instead of grinding away at it.”

Tyler laughs, nodding. 

“I’m sure he wishes high school rules let him start practices this early,” Bitty continues. “Though, he’s probably still sending out those ‘Informal Suggested Workouts.’”

“Those were freakin’ brutal,” Tyler says. Bitty nods to be polite and focuses on getting Tyler the best cupcakes. Red velvet, for sure, and maybe the Oreo cheesecake and--

“Is he coming up for Pride next week?” Tyler asks.

“Oh, gosh, no,” Bitty says, waving a hand. “No, Coach really isn’t one for parades.” He lets out a laugh, to let Tyler know he’s not upset about it. (Or maybe to make sure he’s not upset about it. He’s not though. That car ride was literally years ago. Still he keeps his head carefully down for a second). “Goodness, can you imagine? Coach around all those rainbows and glitter?”

He takes a final beat to pack up the cupcakes safely in their box and then looks up.

Tyler looks confused. His head is tilted to the side and his eyes are sort of squinty and he’s looking at Bitty as if he said something that didn’t quite make sense. 

“What?” Bitty asks. Did he pack up the wrong cupcakes? He’s done that before a few times, if he gets too busy chatting, but he’s normally extremely careful when someone says they have an allergy. Or maybe he accidentally cut himself or--

“No-nothing,” Tyler stammers. “It just… you’re talking about Coach? Coach Bittle, right?”

“Yes?” Bitty says. He thought that was obvious. “My dad? Your football coach? Weren’t we just--”

“Coach goes to the parade every year,” Tyler says. 

“What parade?” Bitty says. He must have lost the thread of this conversation at some point.

“The Pride Parade,” Tyler says. He looks as lost as Bitty feels. “The Atlanta Pride Parade.”

“My dad?” Bitty says. There must be another Coach Tyler is talking about. Maybe even another Coach Bittle.

“Yeah. It’s in October every year. Coach goes.”

Bitty just stares.

“In fact, he drives,” Tyler continues.

Bitty manages to blink.

“He… he drives,” Bitty says. Well that makes sense, how else would you get to Atlanta? Be about an hour, which isn’t bad, not considering how far some of the games are but--

“The bus,” Tyler clarifies calmly. “He drives whoever wants to go in a bus. Well, one of the buses. Not my senior year, but the year before, we actually had enough people for two buses.”

“Why would Coach be driving the bus?”

“Because he’s the GSA sponsor?” Tyler says. It’s a question only in that he is clearly wondering how Bitty doesn’t already know this information.

Which is fair. Bitty is also wondering how on earth he didn’t know this information. He is also wondering what the hell is going on. If this is some prank. 

“Football,” he manages. October is football season. “Coach has football on Saturdays.”

There. He has solved this. Tyler is mistaken. 

“Rumor has it that he uses a bunch of influence in the league to make sure his team gets the BYE that weekend every year.”

Bitty’s whole brain short circuits. Coach… Coach putting Pride over football? Putting _anything_ over football? 

“I-” he starts and then stops. “I did not know that.”

He didn’t know that. He didn’t even have any _idea_. 

“Oh,” Tyler says and at least they seem to bond over the fact that neither of them know what to say. “Huh.”

“Yeah,” Bitty agrees. “Huh. That’s… well.. That’s Coach, I guess. Doesn’t like to make a fuss.”

He says it but not really because he means it but because he’s on autopilot. And that’s a phrase he’s heard enough in connection to his father that it’s something his brain can call to mind in this moment. Luckily, Tyler grabs onto it like a lifeline.

“That’s Coach all right,” he says, nodding and offering Bitty a smile that manages to be only pitying on the edges. He then says something about Jack which Bitty nods along to and then he pays for his cupcakes and leaves the store.

+1

So, Tyler leaves and he stands there. Staring. At what he doesn’t know but he is definitely staring.

It’s nearly 3PM. School will be getting out around now. He should-- Well. 

He has his phone in his hand and is calling before he really thinks about it. 

“Hello, Junior,” his dad answers and he sounds just the same as always. A little abrupt, a little tired, ready to go silent and let Bitty do most of the talking. “What’re you doing?”

“Co-- Dad,” Bitty says and maybe he shouldn’t be calling this soon after he found out this information. He’s not quite sure if he’s proud of his dad for apparently doing all this or _hurt_ that his dad hadn’t wanted to do this with _him_. “Dad, why didn’t you tell me you are the _co-sponsor of the GSA at Madison High School?_”

“Oh,” Coach says and then takes one of his characteristic pauses that makes Bitty want to scream. “Oh, well, that’s not a big deal, Junior. They just needed another adult for when Ms. Willard couldn’t do it. She was going to be out on maternity leave a couple years ago.”

“And they picked you?” Bitty doesn’t mean for it to sound doubtful but it comes out that way.

“Well, I’d been going to the meetings anyway.”

“You’d been going to the--” Bitty has to stop himself. His voice is edging upward into hysterical.

“They’re on Tuesdays,” Coach says, as if that explains things. “You know, Tuesdays aren’t the most important. They’ve had Sunday off and you yell at them for game things on Monday. Real strategy doesn’t start til Wednesday and Thursday. Tuesday is mostly conditioning. Coach Newlan can usually handle that. At least the first hour.”

This is it. This is how he dies. His father is _infuriating_. 

“And the parade?” he says and he can’t help it. It does come out mean. He just… he flashes back to that car ride and the dismissive way his father had talked about it. “You take them to the parade? In _Atlanta?_”

“Well the first year the bus driver got sick and I have my bus license,” Coach says and Bitty can picture his shrug. “And then, well, I was the co-sponsor. So it made sense to go. Someone’s got to make sure everyone stays safe.”

_Damn parade._ That’s what he’d called it during that car ride. A _damn parade_ and now he’s hearing his dad goes _every year_ with a bunch of kids who aren’t even _his_ and--

“So you would go with them and not me,” Bitty says and, fuck, he is getting upset. He can feel the tears in the back of his eyes. He is 29 years old now and a man and engaged and still his father can make him feel like he is a little kid again. A dumb little kid. A _weak_ little kid. 

“Now wait a minute,” Coach starts. “That’s not--”

“Not fair?” Bitty interrupts. “You’re right. It’s _not_ fair. I just don’t understand! Why would you not go with me, your own _son_?”

The question lingers and Coach is quiet on the other end of the line. And Bitty hopes it’s cause he feels bad. Hopes that he realizes how hurtful that is and how unfair it is that Bitty had to learn about this from a _stranger_ and--

“Well, Junior,” his dad starts and his voice is… It makes Bitty pay attention, even though Coach has stopped to clear his throat. “You never invited me.”

It’s enough to stop Bitty in his tracks. Because that’s… that can’t be true. Both the statement and the undercurrent of _hurt_ he hears in his dad’s voice. That can’t… his dad is never hurt. At least, not by Bitty.

“That’s not…” Bitty swallows. “That’s not true, Coach. I invited you the year after--”

“You invited your Mama,” Coach says firmly. “The year after Jack and you kissed. You called her up and invited her and talked about all the bakeries in Providence you wanted to show her and a sewing shop that carried the cutest fabric and said she could stay in Jack’s guest room and maybe you and she could drive over to Samwell to. I only heard about it cause your mom was baking and had the phone on speaker.”

Bitty doesn’t really remember that conversation. Doesn’t because, to him, that wasn’t really the important part. The important part had been Mama agreeing to come. And he wants to say that surely he hadn’t focused so much on her and never actually talked to his dad about it but… but it does sound like him. And he’s sure he didn’t _mean_ to not include his dad but he…

There’s a reason his father remembers this conversation perfectly even if he doesn’t. 

“Anyway,” Coach continues softly. Bitty abruptly realizes that he has been standing there with his mouth open, processing without actually _saying_ anything. The silence has dragged on too long. His dad will be shifting and will want to hang up and never speak of this ever again because that is the Bittle way. “I’ve got to go, Junior. I’ll talk to you--”

“Will you come?” Bitty asks, a bit desperate. “This year. To Pride up in Providence.”

“Look, Junior, you don’t have to--”

“We can go see the rink,” Bitty continues. “Jack can get us in. And there’s a steakhouse that just opened up that I think you would love. And a bowling alley near our place.”

“Junior--” His dad starts again and Bitty could talk more, he knows. He could talk about how he didn’t _mean_ to not include his dad, hell, if he wanted to try to make himself feel better, he could even bring up the _damn parade_ comment and try to pin the blame on Coach but he-- he-- he doesn’t want either of those things. And he knows Coach wouldn’t want some long drawn out conversation either.

“You’re invited,” he says firmly. “Why don’t you come on up and go with me?”

A beat.

“Alright then,” his dad finally says. “I’ll buy my ticket tonight.”

Bitty opens his mouth to offer to buy it. Since who knows how much a last minute ticket will be and Jack is a millionaire. He opens his mouth to do it and his daddy must know that because--

“Except no bowling,” Coach continues. “Watching you bowl is physically painful.”

“Hey!” Bitty says, grinning into the phone even though his eyes are wet. “That’s not--”

“It certainly is true. Now I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay, bye,” Bitty says and then because he is warm and happy and it is just now occurring to him that maybe his daddy needs to hear this as much as he does: “I love you.”

A pause. Then, gruff through the phone:

“Love you too, Junior.”


End file.
